ALSO BY MELINDA LEIGH
She Can Run
Midnight Exposure
She Can Tell
Midnight Sacrifice
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2013 Melinda Leigh
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
PO Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781477807415
ISBN-10: 1477807411
Library of Congress Catalog Number: 2013908423
To Annie, for making sure I came up for air now and then.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PREVIEW: SHE CAN HIDE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Monday, October 21st, 6:10 p.m.
Coopersfield, Pennsylvania
Stalking used to be harder.
He read the display on his phone: OFF 4 MY RUN!
Thank you, social media, for a generation of young women compelled to report their every movement to the world. Though it felt vaguely like cheating, a player who maintained a demanding career and hobby appreciated the amount of information willingly floated in cyberspace. There was only so much time in a day.
He set his phone on his thigh, picked up his binoculars, and adjusted the focus. A dead leaf drifted from the red maple branches above his car and landed on his windshield. At the other end of the street, Madison Thorpe exited her parents’ bi-level house. She stepped out onto the stoop in between a pair of carved pumpkins.
Right on schedule.
Would she change her routine as winter approached and darkness fell earlier each day? He wouldn’t take the chance. It had to be tonight. He was ready. For the last two months, he’d been watching and planning. Thanks to Maddie’s online accounting of her every movement, he knew where she would be at any hour of the day. On Monday nights, Maddie ran in the woods. She lived with her parents, but they had theater tickets for this evening.
No one would miss Maddie until midnight.
A thrill heated his blood and throbbed in his temples. Their moment had arrived.
She turned and locked the door before trotting down the walk. Skintight pants and a formfitting pullover highlighted her firm eighteen-year-old body. All that exercise certainly paid off. Yellow neon running shoes would be easy to spot in the deepening twilight. The sun had dropped behind the trees. Maddie had thirty minutes of half-light left in the day. But no matter how fast she ran tonight, she would not be home before darkness fell.
This was almost too easy.
The faint buzz stirred in his blood. She was perfect. He’d made the right selection from his virtual catalog. He’d observed and researched a number of young women. Maddie had outshone all the others, and she was going to be his next star. The buzz grew louder, increasing from the faint drone of bees over a meadow to the deafening roar of a jet engine. He turned the key in the ignition halfway and cracked his window a few inches. Fresh air flooded the car. But the chill did little to cool his excitement.
His diligent observation and planning was coming to fruition. He wanted to freeze this moment in time, this revelation that in just twenty short minutes, her life would, literally, be in his hands.
His fingers clenched, imagining the slender column of her throat under his thumbs, each beat of her heart occurring only because he allowed it, every breath drawn into her lungs at his discretion, her life his for the taking. Her terror, her humiliation, her pain would fill him with power, and before he was finished, he would take everything from her body and soul. One hand drifted toward his zipper, but he stopped himself.
He wiped his sweaty palms and cleared his head. He was getting ahead of tonight’s program. He needed to focus on the moment. Each step must be executed exactly as planned, every second of the night experienced to its full potential.
There wouldn’t be another for some time. At least a year. His primary rule: one annual kill, like a deer hunter procures a seasonal doe permit. He was already breaking another important rule this evening by hunting so close to the northeastern Pennsylvania mountain town that he called home. But what fun it was going to be to watch the fallout around him instead of from a discrete distance.
Maddie stood on the uneven sidewalk for a few seconds, inserting her earbuds, selecting music on her iPod, and stretching her calves. Then she jogged off toward the footpath that led to her favorite trail. Her brown ponytail swished in rhythm with her toned thighs. Those bright sneakers arcing like beacons in the darkness.
His Maddie was routine oriented. He loved that about her.
There was no need to follow her. He knew exactly where she was going. The development of twenty-year-old homes backed up against township green acres that had been a working farm many years ago. For the next thirty minutes, she would jog on the rough trail that looped its perimeter. He glanced at his watch. Soon she would run through the wooded portion of her route, the location he’d chosen as their rendezvous point.
All he needed was the next quarter of an hour to proceed as usual.
He pulled away from the curb and drove out of the complex. A half mile down the road, he turned into an unmarked vehicle entrance. At the rear of the empty gravel parking lot, his tires crunched on the narrow dirt lane that continued past a retention pond. In the winter, the community used its frozen surface for ice-skating and hockey games, but the rest of the year, the area didn’t get much use. He parked behind a clump of trees, where no one would see his car. The trail was just ahead. Maddie was slender, but dead weight was difficult to carry. He didn’t want to work harder than necessary.
No point expending his energy when he had a whole night of fun planned.
He got out of the car. A chilly, wood smoke–tinged breeze crossed his face. Though the month had been unseasonably warm, the temperature was dropping with the light. He donned black nylon athletic pants and zipped a similar jacket over his clothes. The baggy outer garments disguised both his clothing and his shape. The trees thickened. Evergreens mixed with the red and gold of turned leaves, as many underfoot as overhead. He patted his p
ockets to check his supplies, though he knew he had everything he needed. Plastic ties, gloves, ski mask, check. He pulled the knit ski mask out and tugged it over his head. The gloves went on next. He rolled his neck until it cracked, then loosened up his shoulders. The hunt was on.
He glanced at his phone. Maddie would be passing in just a few minutes. This was true open space, just woods and trees and grass. No soccer fields, no baseball diamonds, no dog park.
And like tonight, typically, no other people. He only needed a few minutes to subdue her and secure her in his vehicle.
He heard the crunch of dead leaves and the soft thuds of her shoes on the trail before he saw her. As she approached, he tucked his head down and moved into the shadows at the edge of the path. Coming from the lighter open area into the darker woods, Maddie wouldn’t see him. He knew because he’d checked during the dry run he executed the previous night at precisely the same time. He was invisible.
There was no hesitation in her stride as she ran past. Overconfident. That was Maddie.
Showtime.
The buzz in his veins heated and rushed into his head. It had been a long time since his last kill, but if Christmas happened every day, it would lose its holiday luster.
A burst of adrenaline fueled his steps as he charged her. She turned. Her eyes went wide. He launched his body at her, but she stumbled backward just before contact. He fell short, landing on his knees in front of her. Her mouth opened, and she turned to run again. Her shrill scream pierced the cool air and echoed in the woods. Shit! He caught her around the legs, tackling her to the ground. The impact with the earth cut off her scream. Her breath hissed from her lips.
He flipped her to her back, crawled on top of her, and pinned her body flat with his hips, then covered her mouth with a gloved hand. No more screaming. If people had heard, they would listen for another sound. When the noise wasn’t repeated, they’d go back to their business, perhaps attributing the wail to a feral cat. Such was human nature. Given the option, most people would choose to believe they’d heard nothing.
Fresh terror widened her eyes as she registered his excitement, now pressed hard against her belly. He whispered in her ear, “That’s right. Feel it, Maddie. There isn’t anything I can’t do to you.”
Her trembling body was soft under his—weak, feminine, helpless. He inhaled. The pungent scent of her fear overwhelmed the musty leaf smell of the forest floor. Flailing, she struggled, the whites of her eyes shiny in the dim. He reveled in every useless slap of her hands. He’d waited a year for this moment. Every second was precious. But enough was enough. They needed to get moving in case someone had heard her cry.
But Maddie continued to fight with unexpected ferocity. She definitely wasn’t going to be too easy.
He sat up and straddled her. “Fighting will only make it worse.”
She bucked under him. His fingers found her throat and squeezed. Not too hard. He didn’t want to kill her. Not yet. Not until he was finished. She would not be permitted to die until he commanded it. He applied just enough pressure to choke the fight out of her.
Practice makes perfect.
He leaned close to her ear.
“If you’re quiet, I won’t kill you,” he lied. No matter what she did, he was going to kill her.
A few gurgles later, she quieted, eyes bulging, breaths rasping, limbs quivering. He removed his hands from her neck. A silver earring caught on his glove. He ripped it and its mate from her ears. Maddie whimpered as he shoved them into his pocket and dug for the plastic ties in his jacket.
Better. Much better. This was just the way he liked them.
Scared and submissive.
Her mouth opened. A shrill cry blasted out, loud as an air horn in the thin autumn night. He cocked a fist and punched her in the face. Her cheek split at impact. The sight of blood and her high-pitched cry of pain whipped his excitement higher. It blasted through his veins, eager to be unleashed.
Maddie was going to learn the hard way.
He raised his hand.
CHAPTER TWO
6:30 p.m., Coopersfield Community Center
“This was my roommate, Karen.” Brooke tapped the touchpad on her laptop and forwarded to the next slide in her PowerPoint presentation. She paused for a minute and stared at the picture. A young woman with clear blue eyes and long, shining brown hair laughed at the camera. Brooke had given this speech hundreds of times over the years, but the image never failed to squeeze her heart. She blinked a tear away.
Tap.
The next slide was a one-story brick elementary school in a northern suburb of Philadelphia, just a ninety-minute drive south on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. “Karen and I were both just out of school and had brand-new teaching jobs.”
She changed slides. An apartment complex appeared on the screen. Exterior staircases on cement pads separated two-story buildings covered with gray aluminum siding. “We shared a two-bedroom apartment about a mile from the school. It was a nice neighborhood with lots of families and kids. Not far from the park. Karen minored in photography and always had a camera in her hand. She drove her red Trans Am with a heavy foot. Her favorite color was purple, and she had a weakness for macaroons.”
Tap.
Brooke swallowed and studied the next slide. God, he’d been handsome. Short blond hair, blue eyes, and a killer smile beamed from the screen. “This was Karen’s boyfriend, David Flanagan. They’d been dating for about six months when Karen decided to break it off with him. He was too clingy, too demanding with her time. She was only twenty-two and not ready to settle down yet.”
Tap.
A dingy basement. On the left were locked storage units, one for each apartment. To the right, rusted washers and dryers sat on stained concrete.
“It was a warm October evening. A little after eleven, Karen went down to the basement to do some laundry. In our apartment building, there were only two washers and two dryers for a dozen units. Karen liked to do her laundry late at night when the machines would usually be empty.”
Brooke paused and scanned the room. Nineteen college-age women sat on the waxed linoleum floor of the Coopersfield Community Center, their attention riveted to the screen. Cell phones were silent. No one texted. Even the first-timers sensed what was coming.
Tap.
A close-up of a dirty corner. Cobwebs spanned the angle from wall to wall. Dust and dryer lint coated the cinder blocks in bluish-gray. A dark stain blotched the cracked concrete like an ink blot test.
Brooke sipped water from a bottle. She swallowed the bitter clog of grief rising into her throat. “Her body was found here, behind the dryer, covered with the sheets she’d brought down to wash. She’d been raped, beaten, and strangled. There were no signs of a break-in. The police said he entered through an open basement window.”
The picture on the screen switched back to the original photo and the flirty smile no one would ever see again.
“David and Karen had had an argument earlier that evening. He was angry that she’d dumped him. He said he was home alone when the murder occurred, but traces of Karen’s blood were found in his car and condo. He was arrested and convicted of her murder.”
Brooke told Karen’s story to each group of girls she taught. It was the most effective means of punctuating her lecture on safe behavior. It was also her way of making sure Karen’s death had meaning and that Brooke never forgot her friend.
Brooke stood. She motioned to a girl by the door. Fluorescent lights brightened the room. Everyone blinked.
“OK. We’ve been talking about staying safe and practicing basic self-defense for the last hour. When was the last time you heard about a group of girls being abducted?”
A tall brunette, Natalie, raised her hand. “Um, never?” On her left, her identical twin sister, Gabrielle, nodded.
“Exactly.” Brooke let her safety-in-numbers point sink in for a few seconds. A wave of guilt doused her. If Karen hadn’t gone into the basement alone that night, if Brooke had g
one with her, Karen would still be alive today. But Brooke’s secret was worse than that. Much worse. Luckily, the wound was old, the skin over it thick as scar tissue, and Brooke had years of practice containing her grief.
She glanced at her cell phone display. Her class had already run over nearly a half hour due to a mix-up with the room booking. Her kids hadn’t been fed, and she had algebra quizzes that needed grading. A weary ache gathered at the base of her skull. She massaged the back of her neck. In twenty minutes she’d be home in Westbury, the neighboring town where she lived and taught high school math. “That’s it for tonight. Thank you all for coming. Wednesday night is the last class in this unit. There’ll be a padded attacker for you to practice the techniques on. You don’t want to miss it. Stay together, and stay safe.”
She closed her PowerPoint presentation, and Karen’s picture vanished. There one second, gone the next. Just like Karen.
In two minutes, Brooke had packed her computer and projector into a cardboard box. Hefting it, she followed the girls toward the exit and thought of her dead roommate. She and Karen had been about the same age when it happened. Young, innocent, with endless years of life stretched out before them like an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Until it wasn’t.
With a wave to the elderly night janitor, George, Brooke herded the girls outside. Streetlights cast yellow puddles of illumination in the parking lot. Natalie and Gabrielle folded their long legs into a red Mini Cooper parked next to Brooke’s midsize SUV. They zoomed out of the lot with a short honk and a wave. The rest of the girls followed. Brooke loaded her equipment into her cargo area. She closed the rear hatch, opened the driver’s side door, and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat.
A distant scream cut through her thoughts. Its raw tone and the way it cut off mid-wail disturbed the hair on Brooke’s nape. She scanned the woods behind the center and listened, but all she heard was the muted sound of traffic on the main road and the wind chasing dead leaves across the parking lot. With less than a minute’s hesitation, she grabbed a flashlight and cell phone from her car and popped her head back into the community center.
She Can Scream Page 1
